Wanderlust Creek and Other Stories Read Online Free

turned furtively as he passed, eyes
straight ahead as was his custom; voices dropped suddenly when he
drew near. And on the second night, something broke inside him; he
could live with those looks of doubt no longer. Alone in his room,
he picked up his hat and went out, leaving the turned-low lamp
still burning. He walked up the street to the saloon. There were
men on the porch, in the shadows of the street. There were even
more inside. Vern went up the steps and pushed in through the
swinging door.
    Johnny Benson was leaning against the bar,
and he had most of the heads in the room turned toward him, as had
happened often the past two days. He was enjoying this. His
shoulder was to the door and he did not see Vern Lennox come in;
and he was in the middle of a speech besides.
    “Sure I heard about it. But I don’t believe
everything I hear, I’ll tell you that. I made up my mind I wouldn’t
believe anything I heard about him till I’d put him on the spot,
and you saw how that went. Y’all are lucky I came along and did it
for you; none of you’d ever have had the nerve.”
    A stifling, throat-clutching silence had
fallen even before he reached the last words. Vern Lennox reached
the bar and laid a hand on it. He looked at no one but Benson and
spoke briefly and levelly.
    “You talk too much to back it up.”
    Johnny stared at him for a second, at first
in genuine astonishment. He had already convinced himself that his
insinuations of Lennox’s cowardice were true. Hence his bravado
came back quickly. An unpleasant grin took over his face. “I’m not
used to being talked to that way.”
    “Get used to it.” Vern’s voice was level and
emotionless.
    Johnny’s position had changed to one casual
but threatening. His thin shoulders swung loose; one hand dropped
to rest on his belt. “You better be ready to back that up.”
    “I am.” Vern jerked his head briefly toward
the door. “Not in here. Outside.”
    Johnny’s eyes slid ferret-like around to the
darkened windows. “All right,” he said. “But it’s too dark now.
Tomorrow morning.”
    Vern Lennox nodded. “I’ll see you then.”
    He turned and went out, as swiftly as he had
come in. The room was still paralyzed; this new development was too
much of a sensation for immediate speech.
    Johnny Benson took a long breath, but one
side of his mouth was still perked up in a knowing smile. “Well, I
guess he had to do it,” he said to no one and everyone in
particular. “Either that or never show his face around here again.
Guess he couldn’t take it. Well—I ain’t afraid of him.”
     
    * * *
     
    The black gelding lifted his head softly at
Vern’s approach, ears coming forward in inquiry, gauging the
possibility of preparations for departure. It was just past
sunrise, and quiet in the livery stable—a different quiet than the
stagnation of afternoon; morning was a comforting hush.
    Vern Lennox patted the horse’s neck, and
stepped halfway into the stall. He ran his eyes over the familiar
gear slung on the stall partition: saddle with the slicker strapped
on it, saddle blanket. He looked at the horse again, and then he
turned away, taking a scrap of paper and a pencil from his shirt
pocket. He rested the paper against the top of the partition near
the saddle and wrote—a process still slightly awkward with the
right hand. But it served enough for the few legible words he
wanted.
    Lars—You can have my horse. Take care of
him or find him a good home . He paused, and then wrote, See
that Rosemary Worth gets the money I have in Preston’s bank.
Preston will take care of it if you tell him.
    He folded the note and pinned it on the
saddle blanket, where Lars would be sure to find it. He could trust
them, he knew, to handle it without untoward gossip. If he wanted
Rosemary to have the money, that was his business and no more would
be said.
    He slipped the pencil stub back in his shirt
pocket with his left hand, and looked ruefully down at the